


Give It All You Got

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Brotherly Bonding, Ear Piercings, Found Family, Gen, Magical Realism, Platonic Relationships, body piercings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 12:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: Dick’s gone through what seems to be an endless supply of silver and iron jewelry  over the years that rusts out or oxidizes and can’t be shined back to perfection. It’s a simple but effective means to help channel off his magic and keep it under control, more than commonplace in Gotham and all over the world, but still annoying.“When can I get something pierced?” Jason asks.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> V doesn't actually have any piercings, and Gord can only wear 1 pair of earrings even though she's pierced her ears 4 times (twice by accident), so maybe don't do what Dick and Jason do in this... go to a doctor's office or reputable parlor.
> 
> Another magic-as-commonplace fic that involves platonic brotherly bonding, lots of shiny things, and "you're not the boss of me!" teenage mentality that may or may not be justified.
> 
> V is hoping to post on Tuesdays for somewhere around 5 chapters. Hope you enjoy!

_Give it all you got. You never know if there will be a next time._

Nightwing dives between Robin and Deathstroke and drives his heel into the mercenary’s gut as hard he can, intent on breaking bone and rupturing organs. His boot catches nothing but air, but Deathstroke must understand how intent Nightwing is on killing him, because he retreats to the other side of the otherwise empty rooftop in a hurry and then waits.

“Robin,” Nightwing whispers with concern as he takes Jason’s face in his hands.

There’s blood on Jason’s skinned knees and his bare hands are also scraped, palms rubbed raw and stuck with bits of loose gravel. It’s warm despite the late hour which explains why Robin has his summer uniform on, but that doesn’t explain why his belt is lopsided on his hips or why there’s blood smeared beneath his nose.

“I’m fine,” Robin insists, but his split lip wobbles and both green eyes are welling with tears. “He was just playing.”

Nightwing rears back and looks over his shoulder in disgust. “Playing?” he repeats.

“He’s good,” Deathstroke calls. “But he’s got a mouth on him, and lots of people aren’t going to like that. Isn’t Batman a firm believer in actions have consequences?”

Robin sniffles. Nightwing wraps him in his cape, picks him up, and sits him on a pile of crumbling cinderblocks from a long forgotten project. He kisses the side of Jason’s head, presses down on the emergency beacon on Robin’s belt, and then turns around to face Deathstroke.

“I warned you, Slade,” Nightwing all but spits as his hands trail up his neck. “If you ever touched Robin again, I wasn’t going to hold back.”

Deathstroke just shrugs. “You haven’t come close to beating me, not even on a good day.”

Nightwing peels away his uniform until his neck is bared; he undoes a single catch and removes a thin silver choker before tossing it aside. He redoes his suit and then goes for his wrists.

“I warned you,” Nightwing repeats as he tosses more silver bangles aside, leans over to get at his ankles that are similarly adorned, and then goes for a hidden catch beneath his body armor.

Deathstroke whistles when Nightwing opens his suit enough to expose a few scant inches of bare skin above and below his navel. There’s a small silver piercing there, and Nightwing removes it deftly.

“Daddy know you have that?” Deathstroke calls.

Nightwing tosses the jewelry aside. He inhales deeply, tilts his head back, and then heads down the roof with his hands at his sides and palms turned towards Deathstroke. It’s a saunter, a left-to-right hip-swaying mosey usually seen in bars and nightclubs. Deathstroke almost gets pulled into the glamor, but he blinks hard behind his mask, and Nightwing’s hypnotic walk immediately loses its tug on his senses; it’s still appealing, sure, but Deathstroke has enough sense to raise his fists before Nightwing gets within striking distance.

“I warned you, that if you ever touched Robin again, I wouldn’t hold back.” Nightwing raises his hands to his face, pulls his domino off, and then tosses it aside. “You’d better hope Batman gets here soon.”

Dick’s always had nice eyes, true blue untouched by greens or greys or browns. Without the mask, Deathstroke can make out the faint glow that only intensifies and starts to leak out in hazy wisps.

“Let me guess,” Deathstroke says. “All that jewelry was silver?”

“And iron,” Nightwing replies.

Deathstroke charges, intent on winding Nightwing, but Nightwing stops short and holds both hands out with a snarl; Deathstroke hits the blue barrier that’s as see-through as sea glass hard enough to send himself flying back to the lip of the roof and off. He catches himself with one hand, flips himself up, and can’t help but smirk; Nightwing’s already hunched over and breathing hard while sweat gathers at his hairline.

“Powerful,” Deathstroke admits. “But you can’t keep that up forever.”

Nightwing holds his fists up. “Try me.”

Nightwing’s fast, Deathstroke is faster, but Nightwing’s magic is faster than the pair combined. Every jab, kick, and punch hits what feels like steel, and soon Deathstroke’s body is aching from the repeated hits and getting bounced around between plates as big as he is.

Deathstroke makes the mistake of trying to fight dirty. He aims a blunted throwing star at Robin mid-fight, but the metal bounces off the blue bubble barrier surrounding the young vigilante that suddenly appears around him. To keep such a thing solid at such a distance and while distracted is one of the most impressive feats Deathstroke has ever seen given how diluted Nightwing’s magical blood is, but he doesn’t get the chance to compliment the younger man; Nightwing roars, and the pair go down in a tangle of limbs that’s far from graceful or dignified. Both of Deathstroke’s wrists get pinned with blue manacles, his knees get locked together, and Nightwing manages to wail hard enough on his face to crack his mask and then shatter it.

“Careful,” Deathstroke warns through a mouthful of blood with a little laugh. “Your eyes are red.”

More than a few vessels in Nightwing’s eyes have burst. Nightwing punches Deathstroke in the face again.

“Careful, your jaw is fractured,” Nightwing mocks before his left arm seizes up.

He rolls off the mercenary and onto the rooftop as he grips at the trembling muscles with his opposite hand. He starts to curl up, teeth gritted against pain, and the manacles on Deathstroke start to crack before crumbling to dust and vanishing. Deathstroke pulls himself to his feet, debates taking Robin as a hostage since the protective bubble is gone, but quickly calculates that until Nightwing is out cold, the risk isn’t worth it, and even then his odds are sketchy at best.

“Call it a draw?” he offers lamely.

Nightwin scrambles to his feet, charges at him with a shout, and the barrier that hits Deathstroke has more than enough force to sweep the mercenary off his feet and catapult him into the sky at least a dozen blocks away. Nightwing knows he’s not lucky enough that the landing will kill Deathstroke, but it’s probably going to hurt, and hurt a lot.

“You’re alright, everything’s going to be fine. You’re alright.”

Nightwing opens his eyes, doesn’t remember closing them in the first place, and wonders why he’s on the ground and shaking. He’s cold, shivering from head to toe, but he’s sweating beneath his suit and there’s something warm dribbling down the side of his face-

“You’re alright,” Robin says as pushes Dick’s hair out of his eyes. “Batman’ll be here soon. Promise.”

Nightwing feels something prick his upper arm. His teeth continue to chatter, and he rests his head on Robin’s bare leg when Jason shifts closer. When did Robin come over and kneel down?

“You kicked Deathstroke’s _ass_ ,” Robin gushes with a grin before his smile falls. “God, Dick, you’re blood sugar won’t even register.”

Nightwing closes his eyes and wakes up to muffled voices and being manhandled into a sitting position. Everything’s blurred, but he can make out Batman holding a needle out to Robin. There’s something silver and shiny in the needle. It looks like mercury.

“It’s _is_ mercury,” Batman explains. There’s a hint of exasperation in his voice. “This first, then the insulin. Hang on, Nightwing. Just hang on.”

Dick has all his jewelry back on, he can feel the cool metal on his overheated skin, but his piercing is nowhere to be found.

“Hey, no seizures,” Robin snaps. “What did I just say?”

Nightwing sinks into blissful darkness, only partly apologetic for his gross misuse of magical power and the ramifications of unleashing it all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, but better late than never.

“When can I get something pierced?” Jason asks innocently during dinner as he scoops up his last bit of salad drowned in raspberry vinaigrette and pops the morsel of greens and carrot into his mouth.

Bruce’s hand on his water glass tightens, Alfred makes a quick retreat to the kitchen for their soup, and Dick, attending his monthly obligatory dinner no matter what and Bruce have fought about within the past week, quickly occupies his mouth with his own ice water. Jason frowns and eyes Bruce.

“Dick got his bellybutton pierced,” he presses. “When I get something pierced?”

Dick just keeps drinking his water.

“He did that without my permission,” Bruce reminds tightly.

Dick puts his glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I didn’t need permission,” Dick counters sweetly with a poisonous smile. “I was over eighteen.”

“You were impulsive,” Bruce counters sharply. “Sophomore year of college, everyone else was getting a tattoo or piece of body jewelry when you went into town, and you just _had_ to join in.”

“Just because I didn’t tell you I wanted it doesn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it before,” Dick snaps.

“It was rash-” Bruce continues.

“Was not!”

“It’s identifiable-”

“How often does my stomach get exposed?”

“And stupid.”

“It’s more effective than all the chokers and bracelets,” Dick barks out with a laugh as he uses his index finger to pull down on his shirt to show off the choker and then expose his wrists. “Lasts longer, too.”

Dick’s gone through what seems to be an endless supply of silver and iron jewelry over the years that rusts out or oxidizes and can’t be shined back to perfection. It’s a simple but effective means to help channel off his magic and keep it under control, more than commonplace in Gotham and all over the world, but still annoying; Dick’s eyes tend to glow if doesn’t burn his magic off regularly, and between that and his unique magic signature, he can’t risk using it on patrol since he’ll be too easily identifiable.

“Let’s all calm down,” Alfred says as he gathers dirty dishes and then serves potato and leek soup. “Master Bruce, I seem to recall a certain lip piercing that didn’t even last a week before you let it heal up.”

Dick drops his spoon. “You hypocrite!”

Jason looks delighted. “I want my ear pierced!”

“You can pierce whatever you’d like when you’re eighteen, not a day sooner,” Bruce growls.


End file.
